


Breadwinner

by Usedtobehmc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, F/M, Feathers & Featherplay, Foot Fetish, Forced Orgasm, Human Castiel, M/M, Multi, Nipple Play, Orgasm Denial, Paddling, Safewords, Spanking, Tickling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:01:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Usedtobehmc/pseuds/Usedtobehmc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is still struggling as a human and realizing that his job sucks.  He's still homeless and there's not enough money for him to improve his situation.  But a very tempting yet terrifying offer lands in his lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spilled Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> My kinks are showing.

 

 

 

Castiel was fully aware that amongst humans, the general consensus was that his job sucked.  He supposed it was due to a few things: the smell, for one.  The hot-dogs rotating in the glass rotisserie oven somehow smelled more like plastic than food.  The bathrooms were routinely used in a way that he would describe as unholy.  And that's to say nothing of the constant odor of gasoline from the pumps outside.  Besides the various olfactory offenses, the pay was low.  He'd crunched the numbers as soon as he'd been hired and was more than a bit upset to find that he would still not be able to afford a room on such a meager salary.

Lastly, a lot of the humans he interacted with on a daily basis were not very kind.  While he could count on one hand the number of smiles he'd received in return for his help, he'd been called an idiot no less than 14 times since his first day.  And the worst part was, many of them returned nearly every day.  So yes, Castiel could understand that while there was dignity in honest work… this job sucked.  

By now he'd gotten to know all the regular customers.  There was William, the elderly black gentleman who only bought mints and gum every day.  Cathy came in four times a week for a blueberry slushie and a turkey sandwich.  Ronald was a teenager who never actually bought anything and just sort of meanders by the potato chips.  Castiel suspected the youth has been shoplifting, but hadn't been able to catch him in the act.  Lucy was an elderly woman who delighted in hurling epithets at him when he rang up her purchases.  

And then there was Betty.  Betty came in on Tuesdays and Thursdays and usually bought a case of energy drinks, two cases of sports drinks and one bag of Salt & Vinegar chips.  She seemed nice enough; she always thanked him when he handed her the receipt.  One time, she even winked at him, which was nice.  Castiel wondered if she was flirting with him, but it was extremely difficult to tell.  Non-verbal communication was something he thought he'd never get the hang of. 

 

********

 

"Hey Steve?"  

He heard the sing-song request coming from the back of the store as he was re-stocking the cigarettes.  When he headed down the aisle, he saw Betty waiting for him, looking a bit bashful.  She was wearing all black, lipstick that was *very* red, and red high heels.  He had to admit, he was new at this, but even he could tell that she was very attractive.  She brushed her jet-black hair off her shoulder and gestured at one of the shelves close to the ceiling.  

"Sorry to bug you, but that's the last case of the Shockerz energy drink and I made a few promises."  She chuckled.  "Can't leave here without it."

"No problem," Castiel said, turning to retrieve the step-stool.  As he climbed the steps and reached to gingerly remove the box of drinks, he snuck a peek at Betty and realized she was biting her lip and staring at his backside.  Quickly averting his eyes, he descended the step-stool, certain that he was blushing.  

"Yay!  You're a doll, Steve."  She winked, and Castiel couldn't help but smile back.  

 

**********

 

Over the next few weeks, communications from Dean seemed to decrease.  There were fewer text messages, and the calls dwindled to nothing.  Alternatively, Betty seemed to be dropping by more often with kind things to say and even a few compliments.  

One day, she actually dropped by with coffee.  As in, two coffees.  One for her and one for him.  

"Is this for me?"  He asked, afraid to reach for it.  

"This is… an apology."  She gave him a sideways glance and held the cup out.  

"For what?"  Castiel mentally went back over all their interactions for any sort of slight she could have committed against him.  Nothing came to mind.

Betty leaned on the counter and placed her chin on her fist.  "Basically I'm gonna ask you something and if it's totally out of line and inappropriate, the apology is here and ready to go.  We can call it even and forget this ever happened."  

Castiel knew enough about the expression "that's a red flag" to know that this qualified.  But he took the coffee cup because it smelled much better than the stuff he routinely sold to the Gas 'n' Sip customers. 

And he wanted to believe that whatever she had to ask couldn't possibly be that bad.

"Have you ever had an interest in doing fetish videos?"

He was wrong.  

 

************

 

Cleaning the coffee off the counter took a bit longer than anticipated because he had to convince Betty it wasn't her fault.  As he mopped up the liquid, she grabbed a napkin out of her purse and got some of the stray drops.  "I'm so sorry, on the way over I told myself to work *up* to that question.  Not just blurt it out like an idiot."

"It's quite alright, I uh- I startle easily."  With one last swipe of the rag, the evidence of his embarrassing involuntary reaction to her question was gone.  

"I guess I should explain myself?"  

"Uh, if you wouldn't mind."

She smiled.  "Here's the thing, Steve:  I run a business.  A very lucrative business.  In this business, I film people in various situations and sell the footage on the internet.  I pay my actors 500 bucks an hour and depending on how well their footage sells, I may give them more."  She took a sip of her expensive coffee and some of her red lipstick stayed on the cup.  

Castiel was grateful the store was empty.  "You're speaking of pornography."  

She made a 'hm' noise and shrugged.  "Sometimes.  Actually, only 50 percent of my website's content contains actual sex acts.  My husband usually organizes those shoots.  More paperwork and all that."

This gave Castiel pause.  It's only at that moment that he noticed the wedding ring on her left hand.  "Your husband?"

"Yeah!  5 years now.  But we've been running the site for 6."

"That must be nice, to be able to work with the one you love."

"It works for us."  She smiled, a wistful expression crossing her features.  

Castiel coughs.

"Oh, yes!  Well, Steve.  This is awkward, I know.  And part of me feels terrible for bringing it up, but I'm here a lot and I know a lot of people… and word gets around.  Specifically the word that you are new in town, and still haven't found a place to live."  She looked scared, as if she was worried he'd be offended and start screaming at her. 

But it was true, and Castiel didn't feel that he should be ashamed of anything.  "Yes.  Yes, that's true.  Most nights I've been sleeping in the break room actually."

"Tough times."  Betty shook her head, her tone genuine.  "I know how it is, actually.  When I was 16, things got real bad at home and I decided that no home at all was better than what I was going through.  I don't know anything really about your situation, but I know that sometimes I wished… well.  I wished for a lot of things."  She shook herself free of the memories and made eye contact with him again.  "Steve, I can tell that you're a good person.  I want to help.  I don't have a lot of connections, but I do have my own business and we're always hiring.  Surely you know by now that you're very good-looking.  I can tell you've got a smokin' bod under that gas station vest.  I think you'd do very well."

Castiel looked at his hands.  His heart was pounding and the only thing he could hear was the buzzing of the florescent lights above his head and the gentle hum of the slushie machine.  She had mentioned 500 dollars and the idea that he could rent his very own room was extremely enticing.  Maybe he  could even pick up a mattress.  And a real pillow.  And a new shirt.  Shoes that fit.  "What would you require of me?"

"Nothing you don't feel comfortable with.  We'd sign a contract, all legally binding documents.  You can always bring a friend if you don't want to go alone.  A lot of my actors bring someone so they feel safer."

She seemed so open and honest.  Castiel searched her words and her face for any sign of danger.  He came up empty.  He just wished he had someone to bring with him, but there was no one he'd want there who would want to come.  

A customer came in at that moment and Betty took a step back, winking as she picked up a motorcycle magazine and pretended to be enthralled.  The customer bought 20 dollars worth of gas and a bag of peanuts, leaving silently even after Castiel wished him a pleasant day.

"Would I have to be nude?"  Castiel asked, wishing with every part of his being that he could control his damned blushing.

"Not unless you wanted to be.  Usually the actors start off in their underwear.  You can also have it in your contract that no one touches you in that area."

"I'm a bit confused… If there's no nudity and no sex, why would people pay for these movies?"  

"Oh Steve," She smiled.  "There may not be nudity, but a lot of things can be sexual and exciting in the right context."   She reached into her purse and produced a business card.  "Think about it.  Even if you say no, I promise I won't hold it against you.  Either way, I'll see you next week."  She waved and smiled as she left.  

Castiel inspected the business card.  A whiff of strawberry floated up from the textured paper.  

 

 

Betty's Rope Dungeon

Smiles, Screams, & Sex

 

_Betty Sullivan, CEO_

 

 

The scary part was, Castiel already knew what he was going to do.  

 

 

TBC

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Make-up!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel gets primped and pampered for his big debut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of the fetish video industry is nil. This all comes from my imagination.

 

 

Castiel and Betty had lunch over the weekend. She treated him to lunch at a nice steakhouse a few miles away from his job where the decor was warm and the music was loud. It smelled wonderful and Castiel's stomach rumbled noisily. If not for the music, Betty would have heard, so Castiel was grateful for it.

They had a pleasant conversation when they ordered and waited for the food to arrive. He learned that Betty was 32, childless, allergic to shellfish and always wanted to go to Paris.

Castiel kept details to himself to a minimum, conciously trying to steer the conversation back towards her and her business whenever possible.

The food came, and Castiel barely remembered human customs of courtesy and etiquette while eating. Betty politely ignored any unintentional rudeness and laughed at the look of pure rapture when he had the first bite of his strip steak.  

"So what do you think, Steve? Have you given it a lot of thought?"

"Only every waking moment since I last saw you," He smiled, chuckling a little. He found that conversation came easy with this woman. She was honest and open. She never sighed or rolled her eyes at his thoughts. She seemed to take his inexperience and general "otherness" with a grain of salt. Castiel was under no delusions that a normal human wouldn't think him odd, but if Betty noticed, she just accepted it.

It was nice not to be nervous about basic human interaction.

"Well, I can explain your first video if you like." She took a sip of her wine, her lips actually matched the color of her drink perfectly.

"Yes. I think the more I know, the less nervous I'll be." Castiel finished the last bite of his steak and wished he had more. He knew then what Dean meant by 'comfort food.' He moved on to the vegetables and mashed potatoes and promptly found that some things were just as good as steak.

"Deal." She smiled. "Well, you've probably heard of people with foot fetishes before," She gestured matter-of-factly.

Castiel nodded, though he really hadn't.

"You'd be in a room, probably with your shirt off, pants off if you feel comfortable being in your underwear. We'd put your feet in stocks, you know what those are?"

He nodded.

"You'd be comfortable, the stocks are lined with a soft rubber, so they won't bruise or scrape you up. And basically, we'd have one of our actors touch your feet in different ways for about 20 minutes. You'd start with socks on, but they'd be removed. Touching, stroking, massaging, some light tickling. Maybe a few light taps with a fake little riding crop? And if you're comfortable, I have a few actors who really dig licking and biting a nice pair of feet."

She said all of these things so casually, that Castiel didn't know wether to be surprised at all this new information about human sexuality. Did humans really find bare feet to be a sexual turn-on? Was this a general or more specific thing?

It suddenly occurred to him that no one had ever touched his feet before. He'd never paid them any special attention unless they were hurting him. After a long day on his feet at the Gas 'n' Sip, or back when he was jobless and wandering... they would ache and throb in protest to ill-fitting shoes and 20-mile treks down the highway. He didn't think of them as a source for pleasure. He had trouble conceiving of how anyone could.

But if it was possible, he wanted to experience it.

"That sounds fine to me."

She broke out in a massive grin. "I knew you'd be up for it! I have a sixth sense about these things, you know! When's your next day off?" She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down a few notes.

"Monday."

"Perfect! Martha's working Monday. You'll love her, she works with all the newbies. Think 'big, southern Mama.'" She slid the paper across the table with the address and instructions for how to get there.

Castiel felt a rush of adrenaline. Whereas the idea used to be equal parts terrifying and tempting, it was slowly morphing in his mind to some new animal, something mostly exciting and new.

There was an itch in his toes, perhaps a side-effect of all this talk.

 

********************

 

 

He tried calling Dean that night. No answer. Voicemail.

 

 

********************

 

Monday morning he woke up at the crack of dawn and pulled his nicest shirt out of his locker before sneaking out of the Gas 'n' Sip. Locking the door behind him, he finished buttoning his shirt and began the walk to Betty's studio.

It was a pleasant, warm morning and gave him time to collect his thoughts.

Turning the final corner, his destination came into view.  The building itself was not overly large, but it was lonesome. It sat in the middle of an otherwise empty block of land, a plain white rectangular structure with barely any windows. The closest building were abandoned and looked to be falling apart. But in a sharp contrast, Betty's building was in fine condition and all the windows were sparkling clean.

There was a secure looking door with a speaker and a button, so Castiel pressed it hesitantly. A crackling "Yes?" came through the speaker.

"Um, Hello I'm Steve. I'm here for Betty?"

In response, a loud buzzing noise emanated from the door. It continued for a few seconds, so Castiel pushed experimentally and found the door unlocked.

The front lobby was well decorated and spotless.  It was adorned with leather furniture, flowers on the side tables and desks, and a shiny black marble floor. Betty emerged from around the corner and greeted him with a big hug. "Steve, my newbie! Come into my office doll, let's get you paper-worked up."

There was a flurry of forms, first gathering his basic information. Luckily, his fake ID's had been committed to memory so the process went without incident for the most part. He didn't have a home-address to enter, but Betty said they'd get that part sorted out later. Then, she brought out a single sheet of paper with the run-down of what they were going to film that day. It was almost identical to what she'd said in the restaurant. She ran down a checklist and he said 'yes' to the things he was comfortable with, and 'no' to the things he wasn't. There were some phrases she used that he wasn't even familiar with so he erred on the side of caution and said 'no' to those.

It was at that moment, that a new thought occurred to him. What if he was recognized?

"I actually have a request." He asked timidly.

"What can I do for you?"

"Is it possible to obscure my face? It's just that... well, there's very little chance, but..."

"Say no more! I've got you covered." She reached into her desk and pulled out a plain black eye-mask. "You'll have an air of mystery about you, it'll be good."

She offered tea, and he accepted, letting the hot, sweet-smelling liquid calm his nerves.

And so, it was time to get started.

 

**************

 

Castiel never wanted to leave the shower. The water pressure... Good _God_ , the water pressure.  He hadn't had a decent shower since he'd left the Men of Letters Bunker.  It had been overwhelmingly 'sink baths' which were just as appealling as they sounded.  But this... this was about as close to Heaven on Earth as you could get.  The warmth, the steam, the feel of the water on the back of his shoulders.  Perfect.  

He took full advantage of the soap and shampoo Betty had given him, scrubbing the liquid through his hair twice and cleaning every inch of his body so thoroughly that he was practically a different color when he emerged from the shower stall 30 minutes later.  

Outside the shower stall he found his 'costume' folded on the counter, which consisted of plain black boxer shorts and a fluffy green bathrobe.  Pulling the robe around his shoulders was very comforting, it was soft and glided over his skin smoothly.  He was unfamiliar with the fabric, but he fantisized about having a pillow made from it.  Or an entire blanket.  Mmm...

"Ready in there?"  The question and a light knock startled him from his tactile fantasy.  

Emerging from the bathroom, he found a short gentleman with a clipboard and the thickest pair of glasses Castiel had ever seen perched on his nose.  

"I'm sorry for taking so long."

"Don't worry about it honey, we just have to get you to make up.  Suivez-moi!"  The gentleman led Castiel down the hall to a room that was mostly mirrors with a solitary chair in the center of the floor and a bald man with a belt full of make-up supplies around his waist who said his name was Jazz.  Strange name.

The first thing they did was inspect his feet.  They sat him down and had him place his feet in a tub of warm water with some sweet-smelling soap added.  When they were sufficiently soft, his feet were scrubbed with something called a pumice stone that felt very nice and removed unsightly dead skin from his heels.  As the make-up artist worked, Castiel almost drifted off to sleep from the comforting sensation of being touched like this.  

It was nice.  He seemed to think that about a lot of things lately.

Jazz decided to take a electric razor to the tops of Castiel's toes, each of which had a few dark hairs.  This struck Castiel as an odd aesthetic choice, but figured they knew best.  

After his feet were tended to, the make-up process was surprisingly short.  There was some powder applied to his face, and a blemish or two on his chest were covered with a combination of concealer liquid and the powder.  Jazz made a click sound and used a dollop of gel to slick Castiel's hair back from his face.  "I think this'll look good with the mask, you look very dapper."  He winked and shooed him off the chair, handing the robe back to him.  

Catching a glance at himself in the mirror, the differences were subtle individually, but put together he almost looked like an entirely different body.  The sight of the tattoo on his ribs was a bit of a comforting anchor.  

'Glasses' came back to retrieve him and led him through a few hallways to what Castiel could tell was the back of the building.  Different from the front, it was a big, wide open room as opposed to several smaller ones.  It was painted and decorated to look like some sort of sub-terrainian dungeon, which he supposed fit into their whole motif.  

He spotted Betty with another woman towards the back corner.  He spotted an armchair and the stocks she had described next to each other.  There were a few lights and reflectors around, with two cameras set up and waiting, pointed at the scene.  

The unfamiliar woman glanced up and saw him coming, her face lighting up with joy.  "Is that my guy?  Oh my Lord, you look good enough to eat!"  She stood even taller than Castiel himself, probably clocking in at 6'5" with those high heels.  Her bleach-blonde hair was arranged ornately, pinned up tall with a flower barrette.  Her make-up was obvious and precisely drawn on to bring out her lips and eyes.  She wore a low-cut black t-shirt that clung to her form and made her ample cleavage even more obvious.  Her black denim jeans looked painted on her very curvy frame.  Her clothes seemed a sharp contrast to her hair and make-up, all things considered.  

"I'm Martha, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Honey."  Her voice was all syrup and velvet, and her handshake was strong. 

Castiel smiled, swept up in her enthusiasm.  "Hello, I'm Steve.  It's a pleasure to meet you as well."

Betty was grinning next to them, giving Castiel a good look up and down.  "You clean up nice, kid.  I like the hair, was that Jazz's idea?"

"Yes, he uh... he said I look dapper."

"Well he was right!" Martha exclaimed, hands on her hips.  "Betty and I were just going over your paperwork, to make sure I know what you like and what you don't.  Don't want to make a handsome gentleman like yourself uncomfortable, you know."  She winked.  "But I beleive I've got a handle on what will happen here and I'm rarin' to go if that's okay with y'all."  She adjusted her shirt, pulling it an inch or so down and adjusting her breasts so that they looked almost ready to fall out of her t-shirt.  

"Need anything, Steve?  You want some water or something?"  Betty laid her hand on his shoulder, her eyes gentle.  

In truth, Castiel was nervous, but he felt safe enough with these people and this place that he answered truthfully.  

"No, I'm ready to get started."  

 

 

 

 

TBC

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Mama Martha and the Mystery Man!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel stars in his very first fetish video.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God how I wish this existed in real life.  
> Also, I'm beggin' ya for comments, I have to gauge people's reactions and see if I'm on the right track.

 

There was a new video on the 'Betty's Rope Dungeon' homepage.  

 

**********

 

The title card appears, displaying simple white text over a black background.  "Mama Martha and the Mystery Man!"  There's music fading in slowly, digitally created to provide the very minimum of mood enhancement.  

 

The title card fades away and reveals a handsome man with dark hair.  He's wearing a simple black eye-make and his hands are cuffed in front of him.  Even with the mask, it's clear he's very good-looking, with a strong jaw, sharp nose, defined cheekbones and piercing blue eyes.  He looks directly into the camera and an expression fleetingly appears across his features.  For a moment it looks like fear but it disappears as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a stony look of defiance.  This guy is either very new to this and not great at covering it up, or a spectacular actor.  Either is quite possible given this site's penchant for both amateurs and talented actors.  

 

The Mystery Man shifts slightly under the scrutiny of the camera, rolling his shoulders against the high-backed arm chair he's sitting in while the cuffs clink together softly.  The camera pans down slowly, showing off his body to the viewers. 

 

He's in great shape; and there's a light sheen of sweat on his chest, bringing out his muscles nicely under the cheap lighting of the studio.  The hairless expanse rises and falls quickly, and the camera continues it's journey down.  

 

He almost has a six-pack, but it's only barely noticeable.  What catches your attention more are the low-riding black boxer shorts that show off the sharp vee of his hips and cling tightly to his upper thighs.  His cuffed hands lie across his lap, and they twitch nervously at the fabric.  Perhaps he doesn't know what he's in for...

 

The camera moves further still, showing off strong, powerful thighs.  They look like a runner's legs, holding pure power and stamina.  The calves confirm it: they look like they're sculpted from marble.  

 

Finally, the stocks come into the frame.  A powerful mahogany structure, it's polished and a rich reddish brown color.  His ankles are snugly held with the rubber lining, trapping him.

 

Lastly, his bare feet are revealed.  They are pale and they look soft, gleaming with a freshly applied coating of baby oil.  In fact, the last drops are still falling softly on the tips of his toes when the camera gets there.  

 

Our host is revealed.  It's Mama Martha, with her teeny, tiny t-shirt and heaving breasts.  Her manicured nails are impeccably done; a bright, blood red color.  She leans into the frame and blows a kiss.

 

"Welcome back, darlings.  I've caught myself a new man and well I... I just plum forgot myself and whisked him away to my little corner of heaven.  Couldn't help myself!"  She closes the bottle of baby oil and sets it down.  

 

The video suddenly switches to a new view; a stationary camera gives you a full-body view of the captured mystery man, still shifting in his chair.  He keeps a steady gaze on Mama Martha as she stalks towards him, trailing a deadly-looking nail up his leg.  

 

He flinches and a weak smile forms on his lips, but it vanishes from his face when the finger lifts from his leg just before it touches his boxer shorts and lands on his chest.  She traces idle circles on his chest and shoulders, leaving a faint, red line of angry skin in it's wake.  

 

"Look at this handsome gentleman here.  Look how soft his skin is, I just wanna mark him up."  She grabs his right pec and squeezes, pinching the nipple just before releasing him.  The Masked Man groans in surprise at the sudden bite of pain but recovers quickly.  "You like that, huh?"  She asks, clearly not expecting him to talk back to her.  

 

Martha gives the same treatment to his left side, but this time he expects it and huffs out a sharp breath.  The small smirk returns again.  

 

Martha circles behind the armchair and grabs the cuffs, hoisting them over the man's head.  She holds his captured wrists there with one hand and runs the other down his torso, exploring all the lines of his upper body, dipping her finger ever so briefly in his belly button before coming back up.  She spider-walks her fingers across his armpit and he flinches so hard he surprises even her.  

 

"Ooh, easy there tiger!  You're all wound up.  I like that in a man.  Makes them so fun to tie down and just… go to *town* on."  She growls in his face with a loving grin.  "I know what'll relax you, how about a nice foot massage?"  She doesn't wait for a reply, but releases his cuffed hands and comes back down to his trapped feet, still shiny and untouched.

 

The view switches back to the hand-held close-up camera, trained on his bare soles.  Mama Martha makes a show of breathing on her hands while looking directly into the camera.  She places her hands on her prisoner's feet and starts rubbing them with great care.  She starts with the heels, using her thumbs to hit pressure points dead-on and obliterate any tension.  She works both feet at once, pushing her whole weight into the massage.

 

Immediately, the Masked Man lets out an uninhibited moan.  An honest-to-god moan and not a 'porno' moan.  Mama Martha grins and addresses him, "Feel free to make all the noise you want sugar, I like to know when I'm doing things right."  She winks at him and continues, moving her shoulders so the camera can get a good view.  The Masked Man takes her at her word, and his shoulders slump as he relaxes into the treatment.  

 

The little grunts and moans of pleasure are absolutely pornographic, which is appropriate, all things considered.  But you would think he'd never had a foot massage before.  He seems surprised by it; even the mask can't hide his expression of pure joy and discovery.  Maybe Mama Martha is really just as talented as she looks.

 

She hums in encouragement, focusing on a particular point when she likes the noises he makes in return.  When she reaches the ball of his right foot, he groans as if she punched the air out of him, curling into a sit-up for a few seconds before he relaxes back into the chair.  He huffs out a breath gently, almost laughing at how good it feels.  The continuing assault on what is obviously a tender spot makes him writhe and fidget in the chair, as if he's having trouble processing exactly how good this feels.  

 

The way he holds his cuffed hands firmly in his lap is a dead give-away that he's hard, or at least getting there.  It's adorable the way he covers himself, but Mama Martha usually doesn't let that go on for too long.  

 

He's been getting this wicked foot massage for about 10 minutes when Mama Martha notices his hands, clutching and flexing on his lap.  Without a word, she rises to her feet and approaches him, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back, exposing the long line of his beautiful throat.  

 

"Put your hands above your head and don't move 'em, or you'll be punished, sweet thing."  

 

He does so, and she smiles sweetly.

 

The camera moves and it's no surprise when a very obvious erection is shown to be tenting his boxers.  

 

She kneels behind the easy-chair and, with one hand on either side, tickles his ribcage for twenty seconds.  

 

He immediately bucks and startles, a pained grin twisting his features.  Trying to escape her feather-light touches, he jerks from side to side.  But her assault continues.  With his feet trapped and in order to keep his arms up, he has no choice but to simply endure the maddening feeling.  He moans and laughs with every stroke of her fingers, his face turning red as he struggles against his body's instinct to bring his arms down and protect his vulnerable ribs.

 

As he flails, the camera gets a glance at his cock, still trapped within the boxers against his hip.  He's fully hard now, and it makes an enticing shape.

 

When Mama Martha finally relents, he is twitchy and over-stimulated, trying to catch his breath though he's suspicious she might touch his ribs again at any moment.  

 

"Good boy!  Keep them arms up now!"  She gives one of his nipples a tweak, and he can't stop a quick moan from escaping his lips.  

 

Re-focusing on his feet, Mama Martha takes a piece of soft-looking twine and methodically wraps it around the big toe of his right foot.  She then anchors the other end to a small hook sticking out of the stocks, tying it firmly in place.  His foot is now stretched tight, vulnerable and open to assault.  She gives the same treatment to his other big toe and practically licks her lips at the site.  

 

The Masked Man groans.  Now he knows where this is going and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to prepare himself for the attack he knows is coming.  His nerves are probably still on fire from the sample she gave his ribs.  He muffles a groan in his bicep, playing up the tortured victim routine, but if his lap is any indicator, he's actually looking forward to it.  

 

She runs a single nail over the arch of his foot and he almost shrieks, but instead shakes the entire structure.  "Which would you say is worse: Gettin' your ribs tickled, or gettin' your feet tickled?"

 

He thinks very carefully.  The internal struggle is clear: try and trick her or risk making it worse when she find out he's lying?  

 

"My ribs.  I think the ribs are worse."  His voice is deep and gravelly and he sounds just wrecked already.  That's a voice made for screaming in pain and pleasure.  

 

"Then I'll make you a deal.  If you can keep from screaming for 5 whole minutes, then you win and I'll let you go.  But if you scream," She scrapes a fingernail against his big toe and he flinches.  "Then I tickle your ribs for 10 minutes."

 

He let's out a woosh of air and huffs out a helpless laugh that clearly conveys his dread.  "I don't think… I don't think I can last…"  His conflict plays out on his face, every time he manages to stop smirking, it creeps its way back seemingly without his knowledge.  His mask is a little off-kilter, and Mama Martha reaches up to fix it.  

 

"I have faith in you, honey."  She says kindly, and the Masked Man smiles back at her.  The warmth is again, surprisingly genuine.  

 

"You ready?"  She smiles, curling her fingers at him.  

 

"Oh," He breathes fast.  "Uhhh,"  his grin is a bit wider now and he starts to flinch.

 

"Don't laugh now!"  She wiggles her pointer fingers, and the Masked Man tries to move his feet, but they are held tight, tied in the most vulnerable position possible for this sort of torture.

 

"God," He cringes, trying to calm himself, but those wiggling fingers are getting closer.

 

She attacks.  There's no preamble or build-up; she just scratches all her fingers down his feet from the toes to the heels and the Masked Man has a full body spasm.  He jerks and twists in the chair, biting his lips to keep from screaming.  

 

She gleefully watches his face when she attacks his toes, beginning with her fingers, but then leaning in and nibbling them.  She cackles when a tortured "UH" escapes his lips.  for a moment he looks terrified that he's lost already, but apparently that noise did not count.  Mama Martha clearly wants to earn this victory.  

 

The camera zooms in on his flexing and twitching feet, and the fingertips that skitter across it, poking and prodding every single spot, searching for the magic place that will make the Mystery Man lose his self-control completely.  The stocks are shaking with the effort of keeping his strength contained, but he stands no chance of escape.  

 

"Tickle tickle!"  Mama Martha exclaims, reaching out of the shot for a secret weapon.  It's a hairbrush with a little plastic nub on the end of each bristle.  

 

She cruelly applies it to the center of his arch and scrubs across the soft, sensitive skin.

 

That's it, the Masked Man screams with laughter.  It takes over his whole body and he has no control anymore, even his arms come down from the position he was ordered to keep them in.  He struggles and kinks his knees, trying feebly to escape even as he laughs hysterically.  

 

Mama Martha stops and checks the stop watch.  Smiling, she turns it towards the camera.  "Three minutes and fifty-seven seconds!  If you'd held out for just another minute, you would have won!  Darlin' that's a shame!"  She's practically giggling now, watching him twitch and attempt to catch his breath.  

 

The Masked Man knows he's in trouble now, and makes a weak attempt to placate her by putting his arms back up, but he's so over-sensitive and hyper-stimulated that he can't bring himself to complete the action.  "No," he huffs, shaking his head.  There is sweat rolling down his temples, past the mask and down his neck.  His chest is shiny with it, and there's definitely moisture slicking his underarms.  "No, please have mercy…"

 

The begging has no effect on Mama Martha.  She laughs and grabs his cuffs, pulling them back up to where they belong.  There's a clicking sound, and the camera comes around the chair to reveal that there's a carabiner bolted to the back of the chair.  The cuffs are securely locked in place and the Masked Man is now fully pinned open under her gaze like a butterfly in a display case.

 

"Please have mercy, I can't take it.  I can't…"  He shakes his head, instinctively pulling against the cuffs and finding that it does nothing to alleviate his fears.  

 

Mama Martha smiles at the camera with a barely contained glee.  This is clearly her favorite part.  

 

"I've got my timer set for 10 minutes.  Are you ready?  Fair's fair!"  She positions her hands at his ribs and waggles them, teasing.

 

"Oh God!"  The Masked Man cringes and starts laughing in a combination of anticipation and sheer ticklish terror.  

 

"Here we go!"

 

Mama Martha attacks and the Masked Man screams.

 

This assault on his vulnerable ribs is clearly ten times worse than the one on his feet.  She starts simply by stroking her nails rhythmically up and down his sides and it sends him into paroxysms of laughter.  

 

She changes up her movements, not letting him get used to any one sensation.  Her next tactic is to dig in with one finger in each of his arm pits and he pulls down so hard on the cuffs that the chair clicks against the floor.  

 

"Haha, augh god… No!  Please no!  Stop!  Hahaha!"  His gleeful, tortured laughter echoes throughout the room, competing with Mama Martha's giggling.  

 

Reaching a little further forward, she tickles with a feather-light touch over his nipples, which harden in response.  His reaction is nowhere near as violent as it was when she was at his ribs or his underarms, but a fun new element enters the game; moaning.  It was unmistakable: the Masked Man moaned at having his nipples tickled.

 

"Oooooh,"  Says Mama Martha, and gives them a few good strokes before she decides to go back to the punishment.  She places her palms flat against his taut ribcage and digs in with every fingertip.  

 

The ensuing scream satisfies her very much.  

 

The Masked Man begs and pleads, twisting and turning to try and protect his vulnerable flesh but there's no stopping his torturer.  

 

"Gootchy goo!"  Mama Martha is having the time of her life, crouched behind her victim.  She cheers and eggs him on, trying to get him to scream and yell and fight harder.  The camera pans down to the stop-watch, which reveals there are 5 more minutes to go.  

 ~~

When it stops, it leaves the Masked Man a sweaty, twitching mess against the chair.  He is absolutely soaked in sweat: beads of perspiration are trickling freely down his neck and chest.  His hair is matted down with it, and the mask seems to stick to his face a bit closer than at the beginning.  He is breathing hard, breathy little relieved moans escaping every time he exhales.  

 

The camera starts at his feet, still tied in their flexed open position, and pans up his body.  The boxer shorts are also damp all over with sweat.  His cock, still fully hard, lays against his hip, subtly pulsing with pent up frustration underneath the thin material.  Perhaps another video...

 

Over his flexing ab muscles and the stray beads of water.  Past his chest, still heaving with the effort to provide his body with long-denied oxygen.  It stops at his face, where his eyelids droop behind the mask, utterly defeated.

 

The video fades to black.  

 

 

******************

 

"Cut!  Absolutely brilliant you two."  Betty stepped in and immediately freed Castiel's toes and then set about unlocking the stocks.  

 

Martha unclipped the cuffs from the carabiner and pulled the handcuff keys from her back pocket.  She helped Cas lower his arms to his lap again, checking his wrists for any damage as the cuffs fell away.  There was none, but she gave each one a quick squeeze  anyway to get the blood flowing. 

 

Cas grunted at the soreness in his shoulders as they shifted back to a normal position.  The ache was fleeting though, and he rolled them experimentally, finding it pleasant.  As he pushed the eye-mask off his face and breathed a sigh of relief at the cool air that hit his forehead and cheeks, an intern materialized out of nowhere and draped his fluffy robe over him, granting him his modesty as he recovered.  

 

Martha beamed at him, fanning herself with her hand.  "What a performance!  I thought for sure you were going to hit me with that safe-word and take a break."

 

Cas smiles.  They had made it abundantly clear that if at any point he felt genuinely uncomfortable or unsafe or could *not* go on, he was to use a specially chosen word agreed upon beforehand.  Apparently (and Cas could kind of understand) it gave people a thrill to be able to yell 'no' and 'stop' without actually meaning it.

 

"Your faith in me was… well-placed, it seems."  He barely had the strength to open his eyes, and chose to bask in the glow of over-stimulated nerves and adrenaline.

 

"Still, I am impressed.  I was givin' it my best!"  She accepted two bottles of water from Betty and handed one to Cas.  "Please tell me you're coming back."  

 

Cas shrugged.  He hadn't, until this moment, thought about doing anything like this again.  He thinks about it while he takes a blessed sip of cool water.

 

The thought intrigued him.  

 

 

 

 

TBC

 


	4. I don't need a lot, only what I got, plus a tube of grease paint and a follow spot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas reaps the benefits of a hefty paycheck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your wonderful comments. As Tim Curry once said, "It's comforting to know there are so many people out there who are sicker than I am."
> 
> I'm open to suggestions for upcoming chapters. If you want to anonymously suggest future kinks on this chapter, do dat. Or find me on Tumblr and PM me there. Same SN. 
> 
> I love y'all!

 

 

Mr. Henderson was a man in his mid-seventies who lived alone in a  three bedroom house.  He had raised four children in that house with his wife Anabelle, who had passed on five years prior.  The children were all grown and had kids of their own, scattered to the four corners of the country and leading their own lives.  Mr. Henderson had lived here his whole life and had resolved never to leave.  

 

The house was not particularly large, but the entire second floor was unused because Mr. Henderson didn't like to climb the stairs anymore.  He'd converted what used to be the living room downstairs into his bedroom, and that's where he spent most of his time.  The internet hook-up was new, apparently all of his grandchildren insisted he have it, though he only used it to check his email once a week.  Sometimes he got pictures from his kids and grandkids at school events, vacations and such.  He liked getting those emails and thought the general confusion of operating a computer was worth the fuss.  

 

When he decided to rent out a bedroom upstairs, he didn't take out an ad.  He simply told his friends to ask around and see if anyone was interested.

 

One of his friends happened to be a sweet old lady name Hester who came into the Gas 'n' Sip every other day for lotto tickets.  Castiel always wished her 'good luck' and they had become casual friends that way.  

 

That's how Castiel heard about the room.  

 

And now, he sat on a proper bed in a room with a lock on it.  He had a closet and a dresser for his belongings (once he acquired some).  The radiator sometimes pinged with the effort, but it heated the room adequately.  It was warm and safe.  

 

He even had his own bathroom.  

 

Mr. Henderson was charging $350 a month and some yard-work here and there that he was too tired to keep up with on a regular basis. 

 

After taxes, the pay he received for his video was enough for the first month and a new pair of shoes. 

 

He smiled, and for a moment, felt like crying.  

 

But his phone blinked to life and started ringing.  It was Dean.

 

*******

 

The conversation they had was… pleasant.  

 

"I've acquired a room."

 

"Hey, that's great Cas.  Nice digs?"  His voice seemed relaxed, almost happy.

 

"Nice enough.  I have a bed and my own bathroom.  I can't believe how good it feels to lie down on a real mattress."

 

"I hear that.  My car's done right by me and motel beds aren't terrible, but give me a queen-size with memory foam with a real pillow any day of the week.  The little things, right Cas?"  His voice held a dreamy, faraway peace that Castiel hadn't heard from him in… maybe ever.  

 

Cas smiled to himself and lay down on his bed.  "Indeed."  A great warmth spread through him, and he wished he could have lived there, in that moment ever.  With the warm light of sunset casting an orange glow on the wall and the pleasant buzz of Dean's voice in his ear.  

 

 

********

 

Dean actually showed up at the Gas 'n' Sip with a parcel wrapped in newspaper and packing tape.  "A housewarming gift."  He said, in response to Cas' shocked expression.  

 

They'd spoken on the phone no less than three days ago and suddenly here he was.  A thought occurred to Castiel that Dean might be coming to visit him a lot; that his initial impression that Dean wanted to see as little of him as possible was completely off-base.

 

Cas took the gift from Dean's hands, gazing at it in wonder.  "Thank-you, Dean.  What is it?"

 

"It's a box wrapped in newspaper," he answered, deadpan.  "Open it, you doofus."

 

Cas couldn't stop a small grin from pulling one corner of his mouth up.  With one hand, he gripped the paper and tore it completely away, exposing a small laptop computer.  

 

Dean was bouncing on his feet as he explained, "I'll have to give you some pointers on how to avoid creepy dudes, and what 'spam' is, but everyone needs a computer.  Window to the world."  

 

Now, having known Dean for this long, Castiel knew that hugs between men were something rarely permitted.  But he went for it anyway, throwing an arm around Dean's shoulders and pulling him close.  He knew he shouldn't indulge his cravings for physical contact without express permission, but maybe this was the 'gut instinct' that humans often referenced.  Even as an Angel, Castiel had felt pangs of what he eventually identified as longing whenever Dean Winchester was around.  But those had been forcibly restrained and stuffed down deep where they could not be heard.  As a human, all of his repressed feelings seemed to be running free again; running rampant in his mortal brain.  

 

Dean grunted, seemingly in annoyance, but returned the hug.  "Easy there.  Gotta breathe, remember?"  

 

Cas released him and took a deep breath.  "Let's get lunch."

 

Dean actually smiled at him.  "Sure."

 

*******

 

Castiel really only knew of one place to "get lunch" and that was the steak house that Betty had taken him to just a little while ago.  Dean was ecstatic at the mention of steak and read out loud almost every item on the menu.  Reading the description of each menu item was followed by the statement, "Oh, you gotta try this sometime."   Castiel chuckled to himself, always impressed with how passionate humans were about food.  

 

The food came, they ate and made pleasant conversation.

 

"Anything develop with that Nora girl?  Or does she strictly see you as a nice babysitter?"  Dean found time between loudly-appreciated bites of steak to ask.

 

"Babysitter only.  It makes sense, she barely knows a thing about me.  I was the homeless drifter who cleaned toilets at a gas station.  Not an ideal romantic endeavor, I believe."  Cas shrugged, his feelings had been hurt at the time but he could honestly say he was fine with how it had turned out.  "Right out of the gate, I haven't had much luck with women.  One stabbed and killed me, the next left me with a screaming child and I narrowly avoided being turned into a fine, pink mist."

 

Dean laughed darkly behind his glass of beer.  "Aw man, clearly you've been hangin' out with us too long."  He polished off half the pint glass in one long chug, sighing with satisfaction as he placed the glass back on the table.  "Hey, maybe give men a shot, they gotta be less trouble than this."

 

His tone suggested it was clearly a joke.  Clearly a facetious comment made to alleviate his frustration over the past few weeks.  

 

But Castiel couldn't help but take it partly to heart.  

 

**********

 

In the end, Cas didn't tell Dean about the video.  The hunter showed him basically how to operate the computer, a few sites that were the most handy.  Things like Google and Youtube, which had useful things like maps and instructional videos on how to make everyday life better.  They'd talked about Sam, and though Dean seemed loathe to go into detail, he did swear that his little brother was recovering every day.  The conversation about one day coming back to the bunker never happened.  

 

And then Dean got into his car and drove away again.  With no inkling of what Cas had done to earn the money for the room.  

 

It wasn't that he was ashamed, he wasn't.  It wasn't even that he was embarrassed, he wasn't.  

 

Maybe he was afraid that Dean would look for the video?  Or did he secretly hope for that?

 

Perhaps because it was a one-time occurrence, it wasn't worth mentioning.  A single act to get him ahead in life, to give him a slight advantage over homelessness.  It was necessary and possible, and Cas had only taken advantage of what was clearly a good decision, for look what it afforded him?

 

Did he think Dean would think less of him for it?  Would Dean have simply leant him the money if he'd asked?  Cas could imagine the exchange, "What would you do porn for, you idiot?  I would have given you the money, that's a few games of pool at most!"

 

Maybe he'd done the video because part of him was still terribly hurt and angry at being asked to leave.  

 

Maybe he hoped Dean would find out anyway.  And maybe he'd feel bad for pushing him out onto his own.

 

Cas didn't like these thoughts that occurred to him in the wee hours of the morning, when things were silent and dark and contemplative.  

 

*********

 

Betty bounced into the Gas 'n' Sip the next day, with an envelope.  He came out from behind the counter to greet her.  

 

"Baby, you're a star."  She laughed, hugging him tightly.  Cas furtively inhaled to smell her perfume as he hugged her back.  Pleasant things like how someone's chest felt against his and the smell of shampoo, perfume or cologne brought him great comfort.  

 

"You looked pleased,"  He commented, returning her smile.

 

Casting a cautious glance around the store, she replied.  "You sir, are very popular on the site.  People have really taken to you and I'd be remiss in my duty as co-owner of the company if I didn't tell you they want more."  She sing-songed her words and shook him playfully by the shoulders.  "You should see the comments!  It's like, a 50-50 split of men and women who want to know when your next video is."

 

Cas couldn't stop a slight blush from coloring his cheeks.  "As… flattering as that is, I don't think I'll return for another video."  

 

"Aw really?  Even with the money you could make?  Nothing's changed, you can still only do what you're comfortable with."  

 

Her puppy-dog eyes should have been classified as lethal weapons.

 

"It's just… I have a room now."  He paused.

 

"And?"

 

"And it's just occurred to me that… that the money I make here won't be enough to keep it."  He turned away and did the math again.  Food was expensive.  And he couldn't just have three shirts for the rest of his life.  All of a sudden, a million questions and possibilities ran through his mind.  What if he had to go to the hospital?  What if he couldn't work?  What if Mr. Henderson passed away and Cas was kicked out?  

 

He was pulled from his rapid-fire train of thought by Betty.  "Steve, all I'm saying is consider it.  And just to let you know,"  she handed him the envelope.  "This is a bonus from the company.  Your video kicked up ad revenue and there was even a little spike in subscriptions the day after your video went up.  People seemed to really connect with you.  And you didn't even have to get naked!"  She chuckled, walking to the back of the store for her usual energy drinks.  

 

Cas glanced inside the envelope and found $250 in cash.  "Betty, this is…"  

 

"Don't thank me or anything, I'm serious.  You earned that, and it's standard practice when our actors bring in the numbers.  I could see us very easily making a series with you as the star.  We could introduce new things, try new toys, new sets, new techniques and fetishes.  Your Masked Man character could have a little character arc.  I think you'd have a lot of fun.  And not for nothing, Mama Martha hasn't shut up about you since the filming.  She's even got some of our other actors itching to do a scene with you."  Betty placed her items on the counter and Cas started ringing her up.  

 

Cas thought about the money in the envelope.  But he also thought about the filming of the video and what he had felt at the time.  A guilty little attention-starved part of his brain implored him to get into more situations where touch did not equal pain.  Where a person's hands on his chest did not carve into his skin and muscle, or form fists and knock the air from his lungs.  

 

Where being bound did not mean screams of pain and blood and the high-pitched whine of a machine that would take his brain away from him and leave him a husk… a heavy hammer wielded by someone else meant to dismantle and wreak havoc.  

 

He did want more pleasure.  He wanted to explore things about his human body that he'd never discover on his own.

 

"I think," Cas intoned.  "We should talk."  A slight smile formed on his face. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TBC

 

 


	5. How to Properly Prepare Your Meal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel has a new co-star, and he means business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art, art, my kingdom for some art! Because who *doesn't* want to see Cas strung up and tortured?

 

 

The title card for the new video reads "The Mystery Man Captured!"  Already there is the sounds of clicking chains in the background, and the sound of high-heels approaching.  

 

Once we fade in, a full-body shot of the Masked Man is the first thing we see.  Strangely, he is clothed.  Wearing a thin, plain black t-shirt and black denim pants but no shoes.  His eye-mask is again, firmly in place.  

 

He is restrained beautifully.  Attached to the ceiling is a pulley system with a length of chain hanging down.  The chain is attached to the center of a spreader bar.  At either end of the spreader bar, there are thick leather cuffs wrapped around the Masked Man's wrists, holding him prisoner.  The bar hangs only about three inches above his head, so his elbows are slightly bent, though his arms are raised above his head.  

 

The camera shows a close-up of the cuffs, secured with such strength that it's quite obvious the Man will not be able to escape.  With each arm out to the side, he flexes against his restraints and shows off the muscles in his arms.  The t-shirt is tight enough to show off those wonderful shoulders, and his biceps bulge enticingly.  The thick veins in his forearms are slightly raised, as though he'd been struggling. 

 

As the camera pulls out again, something new is revealed.  His feet are secured tightly to the floor, shoulder-width apart.  Around his ankles sit another pair of thick, leather cuffs, but the chain that connects them to the sturdy iron ring in the floor is only a few links long.  Effectively, they are useless.  He can't kick, he can't bring his legs together, he can't even fall to the ground.

 

Mama Martha approaches him from off-screen, but she's not alone this time.  A young, black man is with her.  He wears only a pair of jeans and a necklace made of hemp, with a shiny blue bead in the center.  His skin is quite dark, and there isn't a single hair on his body.  Even his head is completely shaved smooth.  He's extremely handsome with an athlete's physique.  He stares at the Masked Man like he wants to devour him.

 

"Hope you don't mind, I brought a friend this time, hon."  Mama Martha chirps to both the camera and her captive and runs a hand over her victim's chest.  "His name is Deka and he said he had a few things to teach me, and I just can't resist a good hands-on lesson."  She's bouncing and practically squealing with delight.

 

Deka zeroes in on the Masked Man and approaches him like a predator would his prey.  The Masked Man leans back, relying on the spreader bar above him to keep him from falling over backwards.  Deka leans in close, grabbing the Man's dark hair and pulling, inhaling as he runs his nose along the white throat it exposes.  

 

"First thing," he speaks with a thick, African accent.  "Too much movement.  We stop this."  He releases the Man's hair and stalks offscreen, where the clinking and clanking of machinery can be heard.  

 

Suddenly, the spreader bar is moving upwards, stretching the Man's arms further above his head until he can't stand any taller or raise his arms any higher.  Mama Martha claps her hands and starts a full-on exploration of the Man's torso, pinching and grabbed whatever she can reach.  The Masked Man flinches and gasps, trying to move out of the way, but he is stretched too far to be effective.  

 

Deka returns and gives the man the same treatment.  He trails his long, elegant fingers up and down the Masked Man's arms, squeezing the muscles he finds in appreciation.  From behind, Deka reaches around and grabs the Man's chest with both hands, kneading and massaging, surely with enough roughness to cause a hint of pain.  

 

The Masked Man groans, unsure of what to expect or how to prepare.  

 

"What next?  What next?" Mama Martha's hands keep exploring, now trailing down the Man's sides and around his hips.  She cups his crotch and gives only a small squeeze, and the Man huffs a frustrated breath.

 

"Now we remove obstacles."  Deka pulls from his back pocket a pair of scissors, and yanks on the man's t-shirt, pulling it tight to the prisoner's body.  He snips up both sides and around the shoulders, so that it falls away in pieces.  

 

Both Deka and Mama Martha release their breath when the shirt is finally gone.  Deka smiles, revealing beautiful, pearly white teeth.  When he grins, his eyes seem to sparkle and you know that he is completely enjoying himself.  "I like your tattoo."  He chuckles, clearly not expecting an answer.  He runs the flat of his palm over the black writing on the Man's ribcage, appreciating it's placement.  "How did you stay still enough to get it?"  

 

The Masked Man says nothing.

 

Deka doesn't stop there; he takes the scissors in one hand and hooks a finger from his other hand into one of the Masked Man's belt loops, pulling hard enough to safely slip the scissors down the front.  He cuts slowly and carefully; Mama Martha holds their victim's hips in her strong hands and watches, rapt.  The Man dares not breathe; his mouth hangs open one inch as the scissors make their way down his left leg.  

 

Deka repeats the process on the other side, humming as he goes.  Then, his task is complete, and he tosses the ruined garment away.  

 

It's when the camera pulls back again that we see the Masked Man is now… completely nude.  Your eyes fly straight to his cock, laying mostly limp and relaxed between his legs.  He is a nice size, but clearly a grower.  You remember the previous video; the outline of his hard cock was much more substantial than this.

 

You can't wait until he's coaxed to hardness.  You really want to see him come.  You hope they let him come.  Because sometimes they don't, and it's a shame.  

 

Both captors hum and coo their appreciation of the Masked Man's body, tenderly touching him and showering him with whispered compliments.  The Man's breathing seems a bit harsher now, but only just.  There is a blush in his cheeks that can be seen where his mask ends.  

 

"Now," Deka speaks again, demanding their attention.  "You must always… tenderize your meat."  Once again, he walks out of the shot and returns a few moments later.  This time, he has brought with him a wooden paddle, a thin riding crop and a cat o' nine tails, composed of short, wide strips of soft leather. 

 

He places all three of them in front of the Masked Man, who still stands stretched and helpless.  Deka makes a big show of deciding which one he wants to use first, and then picks up the riding crop.

 

Immediately, Deka whips the crop lightly across the Masked Man's chest and it makes a satisfying crack sound every time it lands.  The first hit makes the Man reel back in surprise and he curls ever so slightly before his restraints stop him.  He lets out a loud gasp and a whimper.  Mama Martha is immediately at his back, shushing and petting his hair.  She smirks and nods at Deka to continue.

 

The dark Adonis casually smacks the crop up and down the Masked Man's chest, drinking in the small "ah's" and "nngh's" as the sharp leather dances over the Man's pale flesh.  The captive's eyes are half-lidded as if he's drunk on the sensations.  He never takes his eyes off the crop.  Small pink marks are blossoming on his torso, mapping where the crop has fallen especially hard.  Deka lands six successive hits right on the Man's tattoo, listening as the six corresponding "Ah's" get louder and louder with each hit.

 

"Ah, dat is more like it." The crop drifts down the Man's taut stomach and down to where his cock has gotten harder.  Deka uses the crop to gently lift it for the camera before he lets it swing free again.  The Man moans, it's practically a whimper.  "More tenderizing, yes?"  

 

He tosses the crop behind him and it lands somewhere, forgotten and never to be seen again.  He turns to pick up his next toy and the Man sags backwards into Mama Martha's embrace.  She pets him up and down, sweeping her gentle fingers across his chest and down his abs as though soothing a wild animal.  She speaks to him, "Did you like that?  Like a bit of pain with your pleasure?  Pain can be tasty, isn't that right?"

 

When the Masked Man doesn't answer, she tweaks his nipples gently and he cries out, shocked.  "Yes!  Yes, it can!"  

 

Deka swings the Cat o' Nine Tails and tests the leather straps against his own hand.  He demonstrates for the camera and then takes his place behind the Masked Man.  Mama Martha releases The Man from her octopus-like embrace and gives Deka a wide berth.  

 

Deka wields the Cat like a pro, and the first slap of it's leather almost takes the Masked Man completely off his feet.  If not for the strong chains supporting him, he may have gone sprawling to the ground.  The sound he makes is almost pure surprise and barely a hint of pain.  He sucks in a large gulp of air as it the Cat had knocked the wind out of him.

 

Deka begins a steady and rhythmic pattern with the toy, landing blow after blow in quick succession up and down the Masked Man's shoulders and back.  The individual straps don't leave marks, but you do notice that a lovely red is slowly spreading over his skin.  It must feel amazing, tingly and tender and raw and sharp. 

 

The slaps of the Cat echo throughout the room, always accompanied by lovely, tortured sounds from The Man that seem to emanate straight from his core.  He is so sexy, stretched and vulnerable like that.  But your mind wanders; no one has laid a hand on his cock yet, and you almost drool at the thought.  

 

"We are almost done, yes."  Deka smiles, dropping the Cat as if bored all of a sudden.  He predictably goes for the paddle and Mama Martha doesn't have to be asked; she slinks back up close, clinging to the Masked Man's side and fixing his mask.  She wipes a few stray locks of hair back from his sweaty forehead and caresses his face.  "You are so lovely and strong, you look incredible like this."  She lands a quick peck on his cheek and suddenly, begins to slide to her knees in front of him.  

 

The camera follows her as she sinks and lands in a comfortable crouch right at eye-level with his cock, which is finally hard and and angry red.  A bead of precome clings to the slit.

 

As soon as her elegant, manicured hand lands around his cock, Deka lands the first swing of the paddle agains the Man's perfect ass, sending his hips thrusting towards the camera.  

 

The Masked Man cries out in earnest, head thrown back in conflicted ecstasy.  The touch of her hand feels so good but it must compete with the sweet sting of the paddle.  He let's loose a constant string of tortured noise as they continue their dual assault.  

 

Deka isn't hitting him very hard, you realize.  But he is hitting at a perfect angle, creating a wonderful slap and effective sting without the danger of bruising or breaking skin.  The Masked Man is barely standing at all, he is mostly hanging off the spreader bar as if his legs refuse to co-operate.  

 

Mama Martha strokes him slowly and expertly, small noises of appreciation dripping from her mouth every time the Man jerks and moans.  She points his cock towards the camera and continues her long, torturous pulls.  She switches up the speeds, slow and steady at the base, then quick and shallow at the tip.  When her fingers linger at his cock-head, the pleading growl that rips from his throat is just delicious.  

 

"You think you could come like this?"  She asks, over the sound of the paddle's smacks.  "Do you want to come, my darling?"

 

"Y- yes I do.  I do, I want to.  Yes."  He struggles to form coherent thoughts.  

 

"We are not done!"  Deka interrupts, letting the paddle fall to the floor.  "We have tenderized our meat.  Now, we marinate it."

 

The bottle of baby oil is suddenly in hand and they both work in tandem, filling their hands with the slippery liquid and applying it to his entire body.  They take great care to cover his stomach and ribs, massaging it into his back and buttocks, and down each leg.  They each take a turn drizzling it over his twitching cock, chuckling to themselves as he holds still for them while they work.  The Man's eyes roll back in his head as they smear it over every inch of his cock and balls until it glistens and shines.  

 

Mama Martha caps the baby oil and takes a familiar position behind The Masked Man.  She places all ten manicured fingertips against his shining, sensitive flesh. 

 

The Masked Man barely gets out "No" before she is digging into his ribs and tickling him with all her strength.  He yanks hard on the spreader bar but it holds fast, keeping his arms up and leaving him completely unprotected and at her mercy.  His hips thrust and his body kinks and bucks, trying instinctively to escape.  His hysterical and desperate laughter rings out between his breathless pleas for mercy.  Mama Martha's smile beams from over his shoulder.  

 

She stops and gives him a second to breathe, moving her hands from his ribs to his chest.  "I remember from last time," She sing-songs.  "That you seemed to like it when I do this--"  She gently takes his nipples and rolls them in her fingers, stroking and tickling them.  The baby oil eases her way and her fingertips slide effortlessly across the hard nubs.  

 

"Uunnnnghhhh yeah…"  The Masked Man shudders and you can see his cock twitch up in interest.  His nipples must be incredibly sensitive to warrant such a reaction.  Not so odd, considering how ticklish he is.  His head falls backwards onto her shoulder and he pushes his chest out just a fraction more, encouraging her touches.

 

Deka's deep, velvety voice wafts over them once more.  "Now we must have heat."  He loops one arm around the Masked Man's hips to hold him steady and calmly starts jerking the bound man off with quick, hard strokes.

 

The guttural moan from the Masked Man is pure, animalistic instinct.  His lip even curls for a moment, exposing gritted teeth.  

 

The three of them move together: Mama Martha continues her attention to the Masked Man's chest, tweaking and pulling, squeezing and caressing.  Deka is all business; his strong hand on the Man's cock is bringing him closer and closer to climax with very little distraction or time-wasting.  The Masked Man has stopped struggling, he only undulates against them, all noises made to encourage them to continue.  Even under all the baby oil, you can see that he's sweating profusely.  The perspiration drips from his chest down the taut planes of his stomach and into the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock.  

 

It seems that Mama Martha can feel the tension coiling in her captive's muscles.  She senses that his twitching and thrusting has taken on a new urgency.  "Does my special prisoner want to come?  Are you going to come for us?"

 

The Man's eyes are squeezed shut and he struggles to answer.  "Yes-- yes, please!  Please… I have to, I need to come, please…" He begs, almost whimpering.  His thighs quiver with the continued effort to stand as he gets closer and closer.

 

"Deka, I think I'd very much like to see that."  She winks at Deka, he smiles back.

 

Deka introduces a new element to his grip, which includes a wrist flick at the end of his cock with each upward stroke.  

 

That is enough: The Masked Man is coming, and hard.  The first rope of come is the strongest and it erupts from him like a shot, and the Man is practically screaming at his completion as every subsequent pulse of come shoots from him with decreasing urgency.  Deka continues to pull and coax his orgasm, making it last longer and longer until the Masked Man has no breath left and slumps in his restraints, his head hanging forward.  

 

Deka finally releases him after what seems like an eternity, patting his captive's stomach good-naturedly.  Mama Martha pets the Man's hair and congratulates him, complimenting him on a beautiful performance.  

 

The camera does a final sweep up The Masked Man's body, every muscle gleaming with oil and twitching with exhaustion.  His body shivers and shakes as the aftershocks run through him.  

 

The scene fades to black.  

 

 

**********************

 

 

Castiel actually didn't remember much of what happened after Betty said "cut" and the assistants descended on him.  

 

He vaguely remembered his ankles being freed first, and they coaxed him into a standing position.  

 

He supposed that they must have sat him in the green room after that, though he absolutely did not remember walking there.  

 

The next thing he was aware of was Betty shaking him awake and offering him some hot tea.  He must have dozed off, he thought, embarrassed.  

 

"You alright Steve?  Are you feeling weak at all?  Short of breath or dizzy?"  She looked very concerned, crossing over into 'worried.'  

 

He shook his head, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  Looking down, he realized he was wearing a robe, but the layer of baby oil still clung to his skin underneath it.  

 

"You were kind of out of it when we untied you.  Are you feeling alright?"

 

He accepted the tea and gratefully took a sip, sighing in relief as the warm liquid slid down his raw throat.  "I think I'm alright, that was just… very intense."  He smiled, bashfully.  "I've never experienced anything like that in my life."

 

"Well I'm glad you're okay, but you have to remember, if your body starts to leave your mind behind, it might be time to use the safe-word.  You sure you're okay?"   

 

"I'm sure."

 

And it was the truth.  His body felt like it had been through a laundry machine and hung up to dry, but he felt invigorated.  New and fresh.  He actually felt a pang of pride that he'd experienced this and enjoyed it.  His body had provided him with a myriad of sensations that were complex and difficult and he'd actually enjoyed it.  

 

"I do have a question though.  What did you have in mind for me next?"

 

Betty laughed and suggested he shower and get some rest first.  

 

 

 

 

 TBC 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
